City Boy and I often have a discussion as to whether or not this is a farm. He says no, as he clearly does not want to be a farmer. I say yes, as I do
want to be a farmer. To help us settle this debate, I have looked up the definition of ‘farm’; these are a few of the definitions that were given:
1. a tract of land, usually with a house, barn, silo, etc., on which crops and often livestock are raised for livelihood.
2. land or water devoted to the raising of animals, fish, plants, etc.: a pig farm; an oyster farm; a tree farm.
3. a similar, usually commercial, site where a product is manufactured or cultivated: a cheese farm; a honey farm.
4. to cultivate (land).
With these four meanings, I can be pretty sure that I live on a farm (minus the silo.) I may not make my sole living from it, however, I do raise livestock and have provided a bit of vegetables over the years. The land has been cultivated, even if just minimally. And I produce sheep milk soaps, thanks to the sheep out there in the pasture.
Hence, I can consider myself a farmer.
Why is it, then, that I still have farm envy? Is it because I’ve so many friends with bigger farms?
Today I went to visit some farming friends of mine. They’ve got a large tract of land where they raise calves, and most definitely make their living from it. The calves come to them as day olds
, they live in these cozy little hutches which I call Calf Loos (kinda like the dogloos
, you know? Only for calves. Unless they happen to have one of those buffalo-calf crosses there, in which case I call them calfabufaloos
…) In the summer, when it gets
a bit too cozy (also known as bloody hot), there is a shade screen stretched above the hutches to help keep the calves cool.
The hutches are lined up in rows; there’s a vent at the top of the dome to help control the temperature and of course the door in the front for those most adorably little calfie
faces to hang out!
The hutches actually have plenty of room for these babies to move about it; no need for you to worry and think about those poor little veal calves who have no space. I’ve even seen them kick up their heels a bit! The hutch keeps them safe from predators as well as isolating them should there be any form of illness. Once they grow up a bit, they get to go into the big barn (pictured at the top of the page.)
The calves get fed a special formula; the bottles get pulled along in this cart and dropped into the opening in the hutch. The calves know the routine, let me tell you! By the time the last calf has it’s milk bottle, the first ones have already emptied theirs
and they need to be picked up.
While we were there, H (I’ve debated…do I use real names? Or just initials?) asked me if I’d liked the snow this winter. Um…no…not really. I told him snow was a four letter word. He said yeah, kinda like Tracey. I looked at him with a puzzled look. Um, no, couldn’t he count? Tracey had six letters…unless…hey! Watch what you’re saying there, buddy! Call me a four letter word… Why are you laughing like that, H?
Darling and I had really come over to see the more recent addition to the farm, though; piglets! Now I ask you, is there anything cuter than a baby pig? I mean, really? They’re so cute and smiley and pink…and cute!
Okay, not that one. He was big and ugly, and had freaky blue eyes….
Oh, yeah! Now that’s what I’m talking about!
Major cuteness going on here!
Take me home with you…I can do tricks!
Who needs a dog? I’d make the perfect house pet!
I don’t eat much…
Such a good mamma, letting Junior play piggie back.
Do you speak Pig Latin?
Wait a minute…what have we here? Ahhh…there’s H, trying to hide from the camera! Silly H…
You’ll need to do better than that…
Okay, I admit it. I left there a bit envious. My friend D tells me I ought not be. “Yeah,” I said, “it’s a sin. I’ll ask forgiveness later, but for now I’ll be envious.” I promise, D, I’m over my farm envy for tonight. I’m going to head off to bed with visions of pink piggies dancing in my head! (I wonder if City Boy will let us get one?)