The Daily Gauntlet: When Productivity Starts with 1000-Pound Personalities
They say you should tackle your most challenging task first thing in the morning, right? All those productivity gurus preach it relentlessly. Well, my "most challenging task" doesn't involve spreadsheets or difficult phone calls. It involves two very opinionated creatures tipping the scales at around 1,000 pounds each, complete with three-foot horns that could, shall we say, rearrange my internal organs.
"All right, you two boys are going to be coming with me," I announced, stepping into their enclosure. Macho Man, my bull, and Joey, my steer, regarded me with a mixture of suspicion and mild annoyance. "Come on, guys, no fighting, please." This, the pre-amble to the actual movement, is always the most nerve-wracking part. Their testosterone-fueled squabbles are the wildcard in this whole operation. "Come on, Macho Man, come with me, buddy. Amanda, I want you to go. Linda, back up. Joey, go! Come on, come on, buddy. Come on, Joey, get you through here."
Moving my bull and steer together is undeniably the most perilous chore on the entire farm, especially when they're in close proximity. Their inherent competitiveness and occasional outright aggression have me constantly on edge. The scenario I dread most is ending up as an accidental participant in their bovine boxing match, potentially trampled underfoot or, even worse, finding myself on the sharp end of those impressive horns. "Come on, boys, come on! Macho Man, you can do it! All right, Joey, can I get you to follow Macho Man? Come on, come on, boys. It's going to be your winter home."
Well, color me surprised. That went… remarkably smoothly. Significantly easier than I had braced myself for, to be honest. And you know what? I'm really glad I trusted my gut and waited until today. Yesterday, when I initially moved the main cattle herd down from the upper hill, the thought of separating Macho Man and Joey immediately filled me with apprehension. I even made a half-hearted attempt, but it quickly devolved into a tense standoff. So, I decided to let them have a night to "sleep on it," hoping a bit of bovine contemplation might ease the transition. And as you just witnessed, that was absolutely the right call. About as effortless a move as I could have possibly imagined. With the boys safely relocated, cattle breeding season is officially behind us, and the quiet stillness of winter has truly settled upon the farm.
"All right, hang on, Macho Man. I'm going to get you some fresh water. Hang on, just be patient." A thick layer of frost coated the hydrant, a stark reminder that it was a chilly 24°F this morning. The watering system I've rigged up now involves a single hose running from the hydrant directly to the boys' new winter quarters. The deliberate rise and fall in the hose's trajectory is key; it allows the water to drain completely after each use. I can then neatly hang the hose along the fence line, ensuring that refilling their water every morning becomes a simple, frost-free task – exactly the kind of efficiency you crave when the winter chores pile up.
"Okay, Abby dog, you're being a very good girl. Yes, good job." Before embarking on the bull-moving adventure, I made the strategic decision to secure Abby in her kennel. As much as I adore her boundless enthusiasm, when dealing with potentially volatile situations involving large livestock, minimizing variables is paramount. And let's be honest, Abby's "chaotic good" energy is definitely a variable I wanted to keep out of the equation. "You're so adorable though, sweetie."
"Rise and grind, weirdos!" I greeted the rest of the farm as I made my way to the other chores. A quick glance at the water troughs revealed a solid layer of ice – a "smasher," as I like to call it.
In recent videos, I've received quite a few inquiries about one of our more… unique chickens, Deb. Now, Deb isn't a true "weird chicken" in the sense of being a Silkie or a Bantam breed. She's actually a full-sized Americana hen, around three and a half to four years old, I reckon. What many viewers have recently noticed is the peculiar ponytail-like tuft of feathers sprouting from one side of her head, while the other side remains smooth. This quirky asymmetry is the result of an injury she sustained when she was younger, courtesy of a certain other farm resident known for their chaotic good energy (yes, I'm looking at you, Abby). She developed this flap of skin, and feathers subsequently grew from it. After consulting with a couple of veterinary friends, the consensus was that I could either surgically remove it or simply leave it be. I opted for the latter, primarily because I was concerned that an incision might create an entry point for infection, and I felt her chances of a full recovery were better if I left it untouched. That decision was made probably close to three years ago now, and she's sported that distinctive side ponytail ever since. In fact, that's how she ended up with the name Deb in the first place – a little nod to the iconic Deb from Napoleon Dynamite. "Abby, you got to be nice to Deb, remember that? Okay?" I realized I'd never actually shared the full story on video, mainly because when all of this was happening, we were in the thick of the whole "Abby breeder drama," and I didn't want to add another log to that particular fire. But there you have it – the truth behind Deb's unique hairstyle. She resides with the "weird chickens" because she has a strong tendency to go broody. She's successfully hatched out several clutches of chicks, and in fact, a good portion of our current laying flock are her daughters (though they're far past the chick stage now – more like pullets or young hens). So, her asymmetrical hairdo and her maternal instincts earned her a spot with the farm's other quirky poultry. "Bye, Deb!" I'm even toying with the idea of creating a regular segment called "Get to Know My Chickens" – because, honestly, they're a pretty interesting bunch. "Yeah, good morning, boys!"
Well, in the last five minutes, the weather has taken a turn. We've started to get freezing rain. I'm guessing a warm weather front has moved in, even though it's been relatively cool the last couple of days. Actually, perhaps "relatively cool" is an understatement; it's been cooler than it has been, although for winter in northern Vermont, it's still considerably warmer than it should be. But our little goat friends seem to be doing just fine. "How's it going, Linney? Good to see you, buddy." Last night's dog water has become this morning's goat and chicken water – resourceful farming at its finest. "Oh shoot," I muttered, noticing the cattle water trough was nearly overflowing. This particular hose, the one supplying the cattle, has that high point to facilitate drainage, but preventing an overflow is crucial. I don't want to turn that area into a muddy, mucky mess any sooner than absolutely necessary. A quick disconnect of the hose allows some water to drain from one side and the rest from the other – balance restored.
"Oh wow, would you guys look at this!" In just a matter of minutes, the farm has transformed into a skating rink. A sheet of ice, almost like glass, coats everything. The ground was already cold, and the arrival of rain that was teetering on the edge of being sleet has created treacherous conditions. I should probably be wearing my crampons at this point. "Morning, birds!" This icy glaze makes me particularly grateful for the shelter of the hoop coop today. It's surprisingly warm and cozy inside, maybe around 45-50°F. I've noticed that the temperature inside tends to stay cooler relative to the outside when there's less sun, which makes sense given that the structure primarily heats itself by storing sunshine and trapping the warmth. And there's certainly no sunshine today. "Release the quacken! Here's your Food Glorious Food!" Yesterday, I brought the tractor in and spread a layer of wood chips. I'm hoping these will help mitigate some of the mud, and so far, I'm liking the results. I think I'll continue to build up this area with more wood chips over the next few days. "Yeah, I really should be wearing my crampons for this." We'll see if I can get away without them today, but days like this definitely make farming less than enjoyable. It does, however, make the prospect of working on my book later much more appealing. But before retreating indoors, I have a bucket of chicken-friendly scraps to distribute. Let's see what culinary delights the girls get to enjoy this morning: some lettuce, leftover Chinese food rice, an old stale gluten-free bagel, vegetable trimmings, and other random bits and pieces. The chickens always enthusiastically dive into these offerings – it's a great way to extend the life of our compost and turn it into eggs. Speaking of eggs, here's a duck egg. Doesn't look like we have any chicken eggs in the nesting box yet this morning. Our dedicated layer girl hasn't deposited her daily contribution, but maybe we'll catch her in the act before this video ends. I'm considering adjusting the placement of a couple of the water posts in the next few days to improve drainage. Preventing the water inside from freezing solid is a top priority this winter.
And here's the rest of the "moo crew." I would have loved to have their shelters finally in place, but they're still on order and won't arrive for a couple more days. With the boys now moved out, my next task is twofold: first, I need to bring the heifers that were up in the permaculture orchard – Alice B. Toes, Beatrix, and Baby B – down here to join the rest of the herd. "All right, it looks like Alice already snuck out. She got out yesterday, and then I got her back in. I don't know, she probably got out at some point last night. What's going on there, Alice? You look like you got mischief on your mind." Alice will be Alice. My expectations – or perhaps "hopes" is a better word – are higher for my girl Baby B. I'm hoping she'll be a bit more cooperative. "Come on, Baby B. I know you've been crying to come out. Come on, you're coming with me. Come on!" This is exciting; we're finally going to reunite Baby B with her mom. "Come on, Beatrix, let's go!" I realized I'd forgotten to bring my bucket of treats. Honestly, if I had that, she'd follow me to the ends of the earth. But who knows, she might just follow me anyway. Alice is just looking at me like, "What you doing?" I think what I'm going to do – maybe today, maybe not, given this awful weather – is have them graze this spot, like all the other cattle. The reason I brought them in initially was because we ran out of grass up there, and I couldn't get them water. Those aren't problems down here, so yeah, I might give them a bit more grazing time before the year's done. "All right, now we got the secret weapon!" Ever since I moved the cattle down, Baby B has been vocal about rejoining her herd. And now that she has access to this fresh grass, she's in no rush. "Fresh… oh yeah, you like that? Yeah, you do. Yep, that's my girl. There's more of it this way. Come on." It's funny; Baby B and Alice, her best friend from their summer together, the four heifer calves born this year will likely follow the same pattern next year – sequestered down in the permaculture orchard, separate from the main herd. "Don't get too excited. Can we get you? Come with me? All right, yeah, you want your treats, I know." Let's see if we can get Alice through the gate. "That's a good girl, Alice." And now, let's try to lead them over to the rest of the herd. Now it looks like Baby B has discovered the hay stash I set up for the calves here. "Hey, Baby B, I know you like the hay, but do you want to go say hi to your mom?" And it looks like Alice has found the treat stash, even though she's acting like she just got caught doing something she shouldn't. "No playing around with the cattle. Come on, if you want to be here for this work, you got to behave. I got this for you. Come with me. Come on! It's even… you like the hay, but this is even better, you know that, right? Come on, Baby… uh-oh, we got the boss cow getting a little bossy here. Audrey, did you just scare off the young ones? Come on, Audrey, I want you to go back in. Back in! Come on, Audy, back in! Back in! All right, Alice, can I get you in? Alice, can I get you in?" Nope, she just blew past the door. "Come on, you two, stay back. Think we're going to have to try again here. All right, Baby B, this is a second attempt. I know you love these. Come on! What? Your favorite! Come on! Alice B. Well, it seems like I have kind of a dilemma here. The girls are too interested in the hay, and they don't want to come with me."
And then, an idea struck me – one that would also simplify separating out the heifers later. "What I'm actually going to do is open up this lower yard for a little bit. We're going to let all the girls out, and all the girls are going to be able to hang out and eat this field for a little bit. And I think I'm going to give myself another day or two of letting everybody mix together. You know, I don't have to wean the calves like today. If I wait a week or two, it's not the end of the world. And so I think if I just give them at least a day, maybe two depending on weather, I think this will probably be the best strategy." You can see everybody's now coming into this field. "How's it going, Bonnie McMurray? Good to see you. I think your mom's going to be coming over to say hi in a little bit. Let's see what happens." This is always interesting to watch – the herds mixing. And as I think about it, I kind of like the idea of giving them more space versus less space right now. "Hey, Betty Rubble, how you doing? Amanda Hug and Kiss, I think there's somebody that you have not seen in quite some time. Would like to say hello." There you see Ariel checking out Baby B again for the first time. And I don't know, gosh, it's been about six months since the young girls were with the moms. When you look at Belinda Carlile and compare her in size, she's getting pretty close to Baby B's size. Baby B has been growing fast this year. "So, Amanda Hug and Kiss, who's that cow right there?" That's actually Baby B's mom; she just went right by, and Baby B kind of ignored her. But look, Alice B. Toes is excited to see her mom. And so, despite the fact that it's maybe 30°F right now, and it's raining, and I'm soaked and freezing, I'm just having an amazing time actually watching all the cattle do their thing out in this field, and life feels pretty darn good. Hope you guys have enjoyed this update from the farm. Thank you for watching. If you haven't already, be sure to subscribe. And even if you have, you might want to like unsubscribe and then resubscribe – I don't know, maybe that'll help; sometimes people say they don't get notifications for the videos. But I'll be back again real soon with another update, and I hope you guys have a wonderful day.