Meals I Have Eaten: August Farm Times

It's hard to believe that it's September, and that summer is going to be over over sooner than seems fair or possible. Also hard to believe that I've been here a bit over six months. And yet, here we are. August disappeared as mysteriously as July before it, and all I have is a slew of photos to show for it. Well, that's not true. I have memories, some interesting bruises, tougher hands and a lot more knowledge, among other things. Here are some photos though.

We make a fresh cheese called 'Brebis Frais,' which translated to English basically would be fresh sheep cheese. One week a while back I took some of our Brebis Frais and added herbs and spices to it and then made a mix of cheese and cheese-beef manicotti. Turned out quite well.

Taking the ferry to the main land is something I do about once a week. Usually this is in order to do a farmer's market. The ferry ride itself is a little under 30 minutes, and depending on how well I've timed it and how many other people are trying to get off or onto the island, the wait for the ferry is 5 minutes to 2 hours. Usually I end up in line for about 15 or 20 minutes because I inevitably get there earlier than necessary. The longer wait times usually happen on weekends or holidays, though I once found myself waiting for two hours on a Wednesday at 3 PM, which was quite the consternation. The ferry views, however, are always quite lovely.

I read Kristin Kimball's Dirty Life a while back. It came into my life because C. and M. thought it'd be a book I would enjoy, and sent it to me. They were right. It's the true story of this woman and how she met a farmer man and together they decided to start their own farm in the Lake Champlain region of New York. It's a good read if you're interested in farming. The second paragraph on this page was especially resonant to me in terms of how I feel about the work I'm doing here and how it makes me feel, both physically and emotionally. I won't say that reading this was without a bit of frustration. In fact I hesitated to start it for a bit due to the fact that this woman never would have chosen a farm life if she hadn't met this particular man. Their relationship and farm story are great and inspiring, but the fact that it does come down to a man makes me a little sensitive. Sensitive may not be exactly the right word. One thing I continue to mull over in my mind as these weeks and months on the farm go on, is just how I could translate all I love about the experience to a more permanent situation for myself. In other words, how I could have my own operation successfully. On the whole I feel like the reality of trying to run a farm as a business/sole mode of financial compensation is very, very difficult. Most folks need second jobs (or have to think of all the hours they put into the farm as second jobs) to meet their own needs as well as the needs of the animals and land they care for. As someone who hasn't found a partner who has similar ideas or desires in terms of farming, or a partner who is a rock star with plenty of cash to throw at a farm regardless of their own interest level, the financial realities of buying land/purchasing a flock/affording feed/all so many things, is daunting. So I read this book and I identified with the observations she shared and envied them the hard work and payoffs they found...but I also envied the fact that she found someone who wanted a) to be with her forever in the first place and b) wanted a farm life. I'm not sure I'm doing a good job of making my point. My point is that the book is good, but if you have any similar intentions, it can be a bit jealous-making or something. Maybe what I'm saying is: 'damn it's hard to be a farmer no matter what....but damn, it's even harder to be a woman no longer 22 who would like to find a man who also wants to farm.' Or something. Men are overrated. Kind of.

I've continued to swim a fair amount in the sound and nearby lakes. In fact, I set up my tent at the farm's beach for a nice long spell, choosing to sleep down there instead of in my apartment.

A view of the farmer's market I've done the most.

W. had a birthday back in July. There was a nice meal, followed by ping pong, a fire and - for some - skateboarding.

I've also started driving the farm's tractor on the regular. My primary chore in this regard is delivering hay and grain to the lamb and ewe barns. It never gets old, as it combines my love of lifting heavy things and feeling generally capable when dealing with heavy equipment.

The countdown to M&A having a baby is nearing its end, but last month it was a bit farther away. We had a nice time playing Catan. I think I won. But maybe not.

Our tomatoes continue to redden up and proliferate. We've got about six plants outside and then another 12 or so in the greenhouse. Tomatoes for days!

Another day, another body of water. Goss Lake with beer and book. I've read so many books in the last few months that they run together. I can't even tell you what that book is about, other than I read it. Not good. I'll have to refresh my memory and do a book report or something. Geez.

The sheep definitely (and fairly) equate the tractor with food, so they'll follow it hopefully. Here you can see them making a generally fair assumption that I'm going to deliver hay to their barn...though they had already been fed so they were probably disappointed to see me stack the hay as opposed to distribute it.

I think this was after a farmer's market, or just a trip to Seattle for one reason or another. Shiny clean hair, lipstick and jewelry definitely make it a day when I wasn't working or getting dirty. It's so rare that I clean myself up this way, but I do kind of like knowing that I can.

W., C. and I all went to the Island County Fair in late July. Our goals were to see animals, ride rides, and eat fair food. Our mission was entirely accomplished, though we were disappointed that some of the rides (there weren't that many for such a small county fair) weren't in working order on the day we went.

On the scrambler, with the sizzler in the background. We rode both.

L. started working on a new cheese a few months back, and after some research and development stages, she's come up with a winning new soft ripened cheese in the style of a Tallegio or Roblochon. It is soooo good. Any time we have it and bring it to market, it's almost impossible not to sell out. I've quite enjoyed seeing actual French people have an 'ooh la la/zut alors' moment after having a sample.

One morning after milking H., W. and I spent quite a bit of time allowing ourselves to be distracted and entertained by the varying personalities and interactions of our resident farm dogs and frequent visitor Bella. Here is Rodo, the Jack Russell, making his millionth attempt at humping Bella. She looks fierce here, but really it was all play, all the time.

The view from the sheep's main pasture.

This is probably a two-day old baby rabbit in my hands. So little. So soft.

I went over to C.'s house the other week for beer and pizza. She lives on a property that has goats, and this goat has learned that if he comes up to her kitchen window, the chances of getting some kind of treat (a zucchini in this instance) are very good.

I went on a date last month. Before I actually went to the date's location, I stopped at Ebey's Landing and took a photo. The date went fine in the sense that it wasn't awful and the conversation was fine, but not so fine that either of us suggested we meet up again. Shrug.

Sheep nuzzles during milking are precious.

I felt like the Pied Piper, except I didn't have to try very hard for the sheep to follow me. They basically equate the tractor and all of us with food and follow us accordingly.

Pretty flowers after a rather frustrating market day.

H. on the back roof having a laugh break.

Super moon! We swam in the sound with the moon so strong it was hard to fathom.

I also very much enjoyed the fire that S. built to keep us warm once we emerged from the definitely chilly night waters.

We're still milking twice a day, but the volume of milk the sheep can produce is beginning to dwindle. Usually we put our cans of milk into a chiller and make cheese or yogurt every few days. The chiller is a fickle beast, reliably keeping the milk cold...but sometimes too cold. On this particular day E. took out big bergs of ice that had formed and placed them outside. Though annoying when dealing with the milk/chiller, they were quite lovely to look at in the abstract.

I made a shrimp/feta/lemon basil omelet and it was sooooo good.

Rodo has a definite hierarchy of affection. His master, E., generally comes first but when he is elsewhere or too busy, Rodo has his second and third (and fourth and fifth) tiers of preferences when it comes to finding warm bodies/places to hang. At some point I was deemed an acceptable warm companion and Rodo spent some time on my ugly comfortable chair. Not pictured is the night I walked over to E's empty cabin to get Rodo during a lightning storm, as he was just barking and barking and barking. Most lovely/terrifying/awe inspiring about that evening was just how close the lightning was and how totally crazy it was to see everything lit up for such a split second before returning to darkness.

W. house/farm sat for some folks nearby and I came over so I could meet the cows. It took them a while to appear, but they were impressive.

I just love that this is a thing that happened. I was the creepster who pulled over on the side of the road to take a photo.

Handsome Penny the rooster...there is an ongoing debate about how long we'll keep him around, but he sure is pretty.

Gathering the sheep for a misty morning milking.

In my social media channels, I captioned this photo "Better for your bed to shit than for you to shit the bed."

A bunny that looks very much like a koala in its early baby days.

The view I had from my tent down at the beach. Going to sleep and waking up to this was pretty wonderful.

One of our garden's tomatoes paired with the farm's feta also near my tent spot.

A morning view from the tent.

Jacki the sheep in the sunlight. She looks regal but boy howdy is she ornery when it comes to milking. I'd say that a good portion of the bruises I get on my wrists and forearms are directly her fault.

And especially early morning at the beach/tent. My general schedule would be to get down there by 6 or 7 to fully appreciate how the light changes as the sun sets. I'd usually try to get in a quick swim before the sun disappeared. I can reliably encounter a seal during those swims. The seal never gets too near, but you can see its eyes pretty clearly and it definitely comes a bit closer or goes to different spots to get a better view. It will also track/follow you even when you leave the water. Other interesting wildlife sightings at the beach, you ask? Well on one evening when I was walking towards the area of the beach where it is most easy to get in the water without dealing with barnacles, I heard the distinct sound of the rocks and pebbles behind me crunching as if someone was running towards me. With very few exceptions, there is no one else on this beach...so this was a bit alarming to me. I turned around and saw a deer barreling almost directly for me...just a foot or two to my right. It breezed by me without even taking me in, and I found that pretty crazy and deduced 'ah, it must be running from something.' And just as that thought was formulated, what did I see? A coyote its eyes trained on the deer's back hooves, also easily running past me at a good clip and completely without any interest in my existence. They ran maybe a quarter of a mile (or a little less) farther along before the deer swerved and jumped into the water, quickly going up to its head and dog paddling (deer paddling?) away. The coyote was flummoxed and when I turned my head to follow the deer's progress, I was saddened to see that the coyote disappeared when I looked back.

I clean out the chickens' coop about once a month. Last month one of the chickens escaped. This was a lesson to me, and I have changed my strategy in order to prevent a repetition of such a situation. The main thing is I now bring different things to put the old wood shavings in, which allows me to keep the doors shut at all times. The chickens do not like the sound of the shovel scraping on the concrete floor and will fly up and around to express their distaste. Penny did such a move and ended up in the trash can I was using.