"There are two spiritual dangers in not owning a farm. One is the danger of supposing that breakfast comes from the grocery, and the other that heat comes from the furnace." ~ Aldo Leopold
A roller coaster growing season at Fat Hummingbird Farm. The spring promised to come several times but constantly reneged - sending instead frigid rains and fog-furred days. When she finally did come, she was very late to the ball. Several neighbour farmers by then had gone on to different crops - those that would thrive in a shorter growing season. Pubescent corn fields were tilled up and re-planted with soybeans instead. Deep ruts in the fields caused by heavy machinery out on land still much too wet, stayed the entire summer and have left scars in the soil I am not sure will ever fade. The ruts filled with spring rain waters and brought mosquitoes.
All of our gardens got a late start. After the late, cold spring we had a summer that was so short that, in the month of September, we were still waiting for it to begin. Out in the beds in various parts of the farm, the tomatoes are still green, as are the peppers. The tomatoes should long ago have become vibrant red pasta sauce, and jams, and sun-dried. The potatoes are starchy from inconsistent watering (you watered it rained in addition, you didn't water because too wet and there was a stretch of hot dry winds - sigh), and most of the lettuces bolted. The asparagus looks good for next year, though, and the experiments with cabbage, and broccoli romanesco, and swiss chard have all been very successful. So gardening has been a process this year of learning how to work with a new environment and biosystem. With different timelines and weather oddities. It was expected. At least in part.
Then came hurricane Dorian. And we learned a little more about self-sufficiency and how very important it is that we become that. Our water source is a mountain spring so, unlike a lot of our neighbours on wells, we had water during the lengthy power outages caused by Dorian. But we, unlike a lot of our neighbours, did not have a wood-burning stove. Despite it not being a normally cold time of the year at the time of Dorian, because of the strange weather this year, we were feeling the cold by the time our power came back. Also, in the course of the storm, the roof was ripped from our chicken house. The hens were safely in the garage at the time but it became obvious that that little house would not survive the rigours of an upcoming (and predicted stormy and brutal) winter.
So two things needed to be added to Fat Hummingbird Farm:
1) A new, bigger, better, stronger chicken house. One that would keep the girls safe and secure in inclement weather or safe from marauding predators in the cold and hungry months of winter. Also big enough to store their feed and the feed for the wild birds, two or three bales of straw so that cleaning and replenishing bedding would be easier (and dryer!), and room enough for the possible future acquisition of a sheep or two. We got a local group that provides work and skills training for developmentally, mentally, and emotionally challenged people, to design and build the chicken house. They were so proud of the outcome! 'A thing of beauty', the lead builder remarked. Finished, delivered, and levelled on its footprint beside the garage, it is indeed a thing of beauty. It is substantial - both in size and strength. Next hurricane we, ourselves, could move into it. The girls moved in that very night, having no problem at all with adjustment or transition. They do treat it like a barn, however, laying eggs in little bowls they have made in bales of straw, rather than in the special nesting boxes that were made for them. They treat those with what can only be described as complete disdain as they scratch and toss straw over them. Like a cat does with a meal it doesn't like.
2) A wood-burning stove. Originally this house had two of them. Both had been removed when the house was renovated. We love the openness of the house renovations along with the plentiful and huge windows. The light was something that drew us both to the house the moment we saw it. But that does mean that it can get chilly. So now a wood-burning stove, red-coloured, named Brigid, graces our living room. It has pull-out trays that, when next we have a storm-caused power failure, will heat water or soup very nicely.
We are still learning the language of wood. Softwood as opposed to hardwood. A face cord as opposed to a full cord. What kind of wood burns best, longest, sweetest, warmest:
Beechwood fires are bright and clear
If the logs are kept a year,
Chestnut's only good they say,
If for logs 'tis laid away.
Make a fire of Elder tree,
Death within your house will be;
But ash new or ash old,
Is fit for a queen with crown of gold.
Birch and fir logs burn too fast
Blaze up bright and do not last,
it is by the Irish said
Hawthorn bakes the sweetest bread.
Elm wood burns like churchyard mold,
E'en the very flames are cold
But ash green or ash brown
Is fit for a queen with golden crown.
Poplar gives a bitter smoke,
Fills your eyes and makes you choke,
Apple wood will scent your room
Pear wood smells like flowers in bloom
Oaken logs, if dry and old
keep away the winter's cold
But ash wet or ash dry
a king shall warm his slippers by. ~Lady Celia Congreve
It is important to learn the different spirits of trees. Here, again, we must look to our self-sufficiency - and to our woods. As we continue to clear parts of our woods to discover the topographical memories hidden under years of wild roses, virginia creeper, and the pasts of the people and creatures and land that pre-dated us, we must also learn the names and spirits of the trees that live here on our land. What trees bear fruit, or nuts, what trees it is best to let stand until their lives are spent, what trees must be sacrificed for the well-being of the others, and what trees must burn - finding their spirits in flame and crackle-sound rather than wind and rain.
And actually a third thing must be added to Fat Hummingbird Farm. The acquisition of an innate knowledge of, and co-existence with, the vagaries, the whims, the inconstancy and inconsistencies of weather, and land, and water, and woods. And acceptance of the fact that those things even apply to our somewhat domesticated gardens. Self-sufficiency is all about acquiring the willingness to bend of the willow and the patience of the owl. And that quality of rolling with the punches . . . but never down for the count.
* Brigid is the name of the Celtic goddess for fire and Ostara is the name of the Celtic goddess for eggs.
