A friend of mine came over the other day to discuss a few chapters of a book we’ve been reading together. I’m not sure exactly how or why our conversation happened but it came to my attention that I needed to clear up a few things. My sweet friend was under the impression that I was doing all of these amazing things in my life like taking awesome field trips with my kids and making soap and who knows what else. She was under the impression that my life was a fairy tale and I had it all together or something hilarious like that.
She saw my post about taking my kids to see that old house and somehow that looked like a field trip of a historical tour of the town when in reality it was one of the first times I’d been out of my house since Tupelo was born and my mom was in town and helped me with everything. The old house was literally 2 blocks from the market so we walked over and looked around for 15 minutes. No biggie.
As far as being a soap maker. That’s hilarious. I’ve made 3 batches of soap. One was yesterday and it’s orange because of the unrefined (sustainably sourced) palm oil that I used to attempt to discover a recipe that makes a basic bar that I can be proud to put my stamp on. Frankly, the first two batches work but aren’t exactly trunk show worthy and I sort of prefer ivory soap over them at this point. After mistaking rendered chicken fat for beef tallow I was a little shy to try any more for a while. But, I ordered another mold and got to work yesterday on a new trial recipe and I’m already certain that it’s not the one. The point is that I’m not a soap maker even if I posted a few photos of some soap that I made a few months ago.
I made some kombucha yesterday. The last batch had zero fizz. Zero. Before that batch I hadn’t made any in over a year. However, I was inspired by some refreshment I enjoyed at another friend’s house during a walk I took a few weeks ago (the only walk I’ve been on in weeks) and my friend (the same one who came over for ‘mom club’) gave me a scoby hotel so I needed to make some kombucha. I haven’t posted any photos lest anyone think that I’m super woman who takes her kids on field trips twice a day while letting her homemade soap cure on fancy shelves as she sips organic kombucha and listens to her kids recite the Declaration of Independence.
We’re working hard to get this family life back in rhythm. It’s been our groove for the last 6ish years to continually adjust our ways as we add new little people to our brood. We love it and it’s the hardest thing we’ve ever done.
Andy and I knew we wanted children and that we wanted to have children right away. We didn’t know we’d have a honeymoon baby and a child every other year after that, but we are thankful and amazed that we have. Our kids are blessings. They are. That’s the bottom line to us. We love our children. When people ask us if we are done having children or tell us that our family is complete because we have 2 boys and 2 girls we shrug a little because we don’t know if we are done. We’ll take as many children as God gives us.
This season is challenging. The sleepless nights, crying, screaming fits, exhaustion, anxiety and pressure from society to have the picture perfect life or even the accusations that we’re selfish for having multiple children is overwhelming at times. Selfish isn’t the first word that comes to mind regarding parenthood. At all. However, the struggles are there. So are the joys. So are the amazing moments and the milestones. The triumphs and the firsts. So many firsts.
We want to cultivate hearts of compassion and love in our children. We want them to love their neighbors and look out for their brothers (and sisters). We hope to train them and teach them well. We hope that they’ll know the depths of God’s awesome love for them and that we can be but a glimpse of that never giving up love. We’ll continue to press on and hope and pray for good fruit. We pray for their souls. We pray for their souls that will never die while we die to ourselves. May we be found faithful during this season and forever.
This is a birth story. There are a lot of personal details that come with giving birth. There isn’t anything too graphic and I’m not sharing my heart and soul on a platter, but I am sharing an intimate experience. My experience. I’m also sharing the 911 audio recording at the end of this post so you can experience a little or what we did.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this post since her birth less than two weeks ago and how and what to write and what details to share and what to omit, because there are a lot of details and a lot of ‘behind the scenes’ and a lot of angles about this story that I can write. For instance, do I write this as a ‘how to induce labor naturally with castor oil?’ (I read a ton of articles/research/personal testimonies about this subject and another ‘how-to’ never hurts, right?) Or do I write a checklist of what to have on hand if you birth a baby on the side of the interstate? Or maybe I should add an Amazon affiliate link for a stopwatch so that when contractions start you can time them and when they are 2 minutes apart from the very beginning of them starting you can be certain it’s time to have a baby. Then, I can have another affiliate link for a book about being in denial so that you won’t be in denial despite the weeks and weeks of ‘false labor’ before that moment. If you aren’t in denial then you’ll be confident that you’re in active labor and that the castor oil you took hours before actually worked. I could write a dissertation about all of the ‘what-if’ scenarios and ‘what-could-have-happened’ to scare the mess out of you, because even though everything turned out perfectly fine, I’ve been reminded over and over and over by well meaning people that I could have died, the baby could have died, we all could have died and while that is absolutely true, I am so thankful that I didn’t die that night and the baby didn’t die that night and andy didn’t die that night and we are all alive and doing marvelously, thank God. I also don’t want to miss the point that despite the absolute worst case scenarios that people have worried about and despite us heading to the hospital and completely bypassing our plans to labor close to the hospital and despite never even arriving at the hospital before Ms Tupelo was born, everything is just fine and we are amazed and thankful for just how perfectly her birth happened, even if I was standing on an exit ramp off of the interstate….
I was scheduled for an induction the following week. I was at the 41 week mark and our doctors agreed to let me go to almost 42 before a foley bulb induction. Any sort of chemical induction was out of the question, because of the higher risk of uterine rupture. I was induced with a foley bulb for Buttercup’s birth and after 36 hours of labor in the hospital under the watchful eyes and monitors of the staff she was born. We were thrilled to have a successful VBA2C with her 9lb6oz self and were hoping and praying for another successful VBA2C with Tupelo.
We’d tried every single natural labor induction method ever documented and despite having many nights of ‘false labor’ (it seemed like labor started but then everything would be back to normal and contractions never increased or stuck around) and despite all of the spicy foods, bumpy atv rides, intimacy (birth stories are personal, y’all), walking, jogging (for about 27 seconds), evening primrose oil, eggplant Parmesan, licorice and more we finally decided to give the dreaded castor oil a try. I knew there was about a 50% chance for it to start labor and I knew the side effects would be less than awesome. It’s a laxative after all. It’s a laxative that tastes like lipstick. I knew that if my body wasn’t ready to deliver then the castor oil wouldn’t work. It did work for us.
We decided to drink the stuff on Thursday morning because if it didn’t work then we’d have plenty of time to get it out of my system and stay hydrated before our scheduled induction the following Monday. It was our last resort. After getting a great night of sleep on Wednesday I woke up and had a T of castor oil with some Oj and went for a walk. Nothing happened. I went about my morning as a mama of little ones and decided to try another T. Still nothing. Around noon when andy came in I told him I felt like an idiot for trying to make something happen if it wasn’t time and that maybe I was trying to act like God. Andy completely disagreed and encouraged me (per our Doula’s advice) to take the rest of the 4oz bottle. I didn’t want to do it because I was afraid of the repercussions but we had plenty of coconut water and Gatorade and we were at home so I could conveniently go to the restroom and stay hydrated. So I chugged it and felt sick.
I took a deep nap at 3pm while andy did the farm chores with the kids and at 5pm we started getting dinner ready and I changed our sheets for the farm sitter. I felt ‘different’ and told andy that we should probably plan to head to the cottage in Savannah that night. Our friends are caretakers of a retreat in Savannah called Wesley Gardens. There is a big main house and a cottage that can be rented with walking paths and a dock overlooking Moon River. It’s only 9 miles from the hospital. We live an hour and a half away from the hospital so we wanted to be closer and labor with our doula in a peaceful place before going in to deliver. After a 36 hour labor previously and 2 csections before that (one scheduled and one after 36 hours of labor and ‘failure to progress’) we knew it would take some time and we were ready. I text our doula to ask her again how far apart contractions should be before we head that way and I started timing them. I was obviously in denial at this point because I could not believe that contractions were only 2 minutes apart. They had just started. I also thought that if I was going to spend the next day dealing with contractions this heavy then there is no way I could forgo an epidural. It was all I could do to get our bed made and smile at the kids and breathe. I told andy that we needed to go and didn’t know that he’d already called our friend/farm sitter and that his dad was on the way to pick up the kids. BREATHE. And grip the counter top and try not to grip the counter top because you need to relax and let your body do what it needs to do. BREATHE. The kids got loaded up and went to their grandparent’s house (praise God for loving grandparents!) and Andy and I got our shoes on and headed to the car. I couldn’t breathe. I also couldn’t believe that contractions were 2 minutes apart. From the beginning. There was never a build up, there was never a 15 minute break or 10 minute break or 8 or 5 minute break in between each one. They were 2 minutes apart and I was in active labor/transition from the time they started. We had to hussle.
Just before we drove off I told andy to grab a couple of towels. We had our exercise ball and big hospital style bed pads and walking shoes and snacks and every other possible labor item you can imagine but we needed towels just in case my water broke. For the record my water has never broken ‘voluntarily’ but has always been broken by the midwife (first birth started at a birthing center and ended at the hospital) or the doctor. Still, just in case. Before we left I told my sister Olive, my friend Abby in Alaska and my friend Emily that we were in labor. I also let our friend Abbie know that we were headed to the cottage. I wanted to tell girls from our church and others so they could be praying for us but I never could concentrate long enough between contractions to inform them. So we got on the interstate and headed to Savannah. Andy timed contractions for our doula and we realized they were a minute and a half apart. Janie (our doula) text me to say that if I felt nauseous or got cold sweats or felt my bottom burning then we needed to pull over. I called her because Andy had just pulled over so I could throw up. I thought this was just an effect of the castor oil that i’d consumed hours prior and still didn’t recognize it as transitional labor. I couldn’t actually talk to Janie because of how intense the contractions were but she called andy. We were driving again at this point and I turned the heater to full blast on my side of the car. The entire time I was rolling the window and sun roof open and closed and changing the radio and trying to get comfortable and saying ‘now’ whenever a contraction would start but now andy got worried. Heater on when’s it’s 90plus degrees outside and your wife is practically ripping your head off and you still have 45 minutes to get to the hospital would probably make any man worry.
So, Andy’s on the phone with Janie and she tells him that he will probably have to deliver our baby. And then I have to go. Right then. I told him ‘I have to poop!’ ‘You have to poop?’ ‘Yes, I have to poop.’ ‘Right now?’ ‘I’m pooping!!!!!’ Oh y’all. I wish this wasn’t true. I wish I was making up a fictional story about the girl who had a baby on the side of the road but I’m not. It’s all true. Every last personal and gruesome detail. I could put an Amazon affiliate link for the kids book ‘everyone poops’ right here, but I actually don’t have an Amazon affiliate link thing set up so I won’t. But the fact of the matter is that I was basically wearing a diaper (remember that I didn’t want my water to break and ruin the car’s interior) so everything was contained in a nice adult diaper sort of thing and we were still driving down the interstate desperately looking for the next exit ramp. We’d just passed a tractor trailer weigh station when the unfortunate (and totally natural!!!) happened so we had about 4 more miles to go. For a brief second I thought I wanted andy to pull over directly on the side of the interstate but in a rational moment I saw all of the traffic and knew that i could wait a few more minutes to get cleaned up on the privacy of an exit ramp vs the interstate. He pulled off of exit 148 (which is also the exit he takes to go to our Tupelo bee yard on the ogeechee river) and I started to crawl out of the car. I’d taken my shoes off (woman in labor=shoes on. shoes off. window open. window closed. radio on. radio off. ac on. heat on. BREATHE) and andy came to the passenger side, cleaned me up, helped me get my shoes on and helped me get out of the car. I knew I couldn’t sit in the car. He was on the phone with Janie still and debating about calling 911 and telling me to get back in the car so we could keep going. The thing is, I couldn’t keep going. I could stand there and breathe and hang on to the side of the car but I couldn’t walk and I couldn’t get back in the car. I wasn’t being dramatic but I told andy that we werent going anywhere and we were about to have our baby. I didn’t believe we were actually about to deliver her. Right then. But I knew I couldn’t keep traveling. I knew that there was A LOT of pressure down there and that walking or sitting was out of the question. So I stood there. Then I squatted. Then I looked at the ground and saw pavement/asphalt/gravel/probably bits of glass and I stood back up. I couldn’t deliver her right here. On the road. Then my water broke. Having never experienced my water breaking spontaneously it was really neat and not that eventful. There was a pop and a gush almost like a small water balloon had just busted by my feet. But I felt it and andy was there and he called 911. And for the next few minutes I went sort of silent.
I needed to concentrate and I couldn’t because I was paying attention to andy and his headlamp and his conversation and I just needed to focus. It was time. I told andy to get a towel. When I knew that he was there with a towel under me (I was still standing by the car and had stopped wondering what the cars thought as they drove by and saw us there) and I knew that our precious baby wasn’t going to hit the asphalt and I knew I needed to push her out or I’d stand on the side of the road unable to walk or sit down for the rest of my life so, I started pushing when the urge came. Three hours after labor started, I was pushing our precious baby out into the world. It was a relief. It really was.
Accepting that it was indeed time and that she was indeed being born right then was a huge blessed relief. I’d had so much fear prior to this moment. Fear of the unknowns and what ifs. Fear of ‘failing’ or losing our baby or my life. Traumatic labor and delivery memories would creep in and I’d sob and wonder what I could have done differently. Wonder why things happened the way they did in the past. I was afraid. Then Buttercup was born and my fears of uterine rupture subsided. Then Tupelo was born and my fears of childbirth subsided. All of them. She was born and we were alive and Andy caught her and it was just us. Our family. Andy handed me the baby (cord still attached to the placenta that hadn’t been delivered) and we sat back down in the car (hospital sized pads/towel on the seat) and waited for the first responders and ambulance to arrive.
I wondered if we should go ahead and drive to the hospital but the 911 dispatcher advised us to wait. So we did. They came and cut the cord and transferred us to the ambulance. She and I rode with andy following. We were discharged 24 hours later. I had a small tear that got a stitch and the nurse told us that ‘it’s a good thing that you delivered her before you got here. The dr on duty is anti vbac.’ He came in to see us just prior to her saying that and apologized for our wait because he’d just done two csections. None of the doctors in our practice were on duty. Our doctors are amazing. They are all pro vbac and are the only practice in our region that I could find that would give us a trial of labor after 2 csections. The hospital has the best NICU in the region also so we knew from our last birth experience that we were in the best place in the event of an emergency. Thankfully there wasn’t an emergency. Thankfully there weren’t any complications and God totally spared us from devastation.
Tupelo was 8lbs 13oz and 21&1/4inches long. She’s a beautiful, sweet addition to our growing family and her older siblings all adore her. She definitely gave us a unique story to tell and absolutely gave andy and I a deeper bond than we had before. We got the 911 audio recording and I keep listening to it and falling more and more in love with my man and admiring the way he handled the entire situation. Everyone’s experiences and stories are unique. I never imagined having a baby as quickly and smoothly and ‘unassisted’ as we did, but I am forever grateful that we did. Thankfully, our sweet Ms Tupelo gave us a whole new meaning to the term Roadside Stand. XO.
I’ve been writing a lot about sheep lately. I suppose it is the season for sheep adventures. Soon, will be bees since we’re gearing up for the Tupelo honey flow, the chicken eggs could also be a hot topic since production is steadily increasing with 91 eggs collected just today. The summer garden is about to be planted and one of my silkie hens just hatched out a duckling from an egg that was mischievously laid in her nest. I could keep a blog going with gardening content alone or animal husbandry or Andy’s chore list, I guess that is what homesteading is about, but this post is about our oldest kid’s recent birthday. He’s 6. Bullfrog turned 6 years old a couple of days ago and while it was a bit tough, because that’s the morning Yoda died, Bullfrog didn’t know it and we celebrated him and our love for our boy.
We did not have a big party or extravagant gifts. We did hang a few streamers and give him a few thoughtful books and a container to store his Legos. He was really excited about the container and I laughed when he exclaimed ‘yay, my own container!’ Our kid is awesome. Andy hand picked a sling shot and a multi tool for him, which is a step up from his pocket knife, because it has a good pair of pliers.
My sister, Olive and her husband sent him a fresh sketch pad, a ‘how to draw people’ book and some nice colored pencils. She’s an artist and she directed a children’s art studio in Atlanta for over a decade, so she’s the one who gives the easel, painting supplies, thoughtful games and more.
Andy’s parents Dan ‘grandad’ and Linda ‘grandma’ (formerly Goma, but we’re working on the transition to grandma after almost 5 years of being called Goma) came over for some grilled chicken and carrot cake and Bullfrog felt like a prince.
He’s a thoughtful boy. He adores his siblings and is incredibly intelligent. He has a memory like an elephant (I hear they never forget) and a very keen awareness of right and wrong. His heart is huge and he loves his neighbors. I am so glad that I get to be his mom. He’s growing fast and changing every day and I love that I get to be a witness to it all. I get to enjoy these fleeting years with my children and watch as Bullfrog paves the way for his siblings and continues to show Andy and I how to tackle this season of raising up children to be awesome adults. The days are long but the years are short is what I am reminded. I remember his birthday vividly. I remember the struggles to figure out motherhood (still working on that and probably always will) and I remember long before Andy and I met, praying for a husband and children. I didn’t always pray and I certainly didn’t always want a family or to get married and have children but when my heart was softened to the idea, I hoped I’d be a wife and a mother someday and now I am. They are all precious blessings and I’m so thankful we had the opportunity to celebrate our oldest and the last 6 years of life we’ve gotten to share with him.
There’s no easy way to lose an animal. The farm’s ram, Dragonwool Yoda passed away on Thursday and we’re frustrated to say the least. This is our first time losing a sheep to an illness and although we think we know the culprit, it doesn’t make it easier.
We have always been warned that sheep go down fast. We can attest to that fact now from our own experience. After treating him for what appears to be internal parasites and doing everything recommended, he still died. It was too late when we realized he was thin (he had an amazing fleece and showed no other sickly symptoms other than his body weight which is hard to visually observe under a gorgeous wool coat) and despite our best efforts to give him plenty of calories, supplements, medicine and time to heal, he’s gone.
I think the hardest lesson for me is feeling like a complete failure and terrible steward and admitting that a sheep died in our care. I know that death is a fact of life. I know that Yoda was a ram and not a person. I know that farming is hard and not for the faint, I’ve written about it over and over on our Urbanna Farm blog and experienced it over and over with different species. The sheep have a special place in my heart. They are special and losing a young, seemingly healthy, very promising ram just stinks. A gal who I’ve come to know and love sold Yoda to the farm and introduced us to the world of Jacob sheep. She’s become like a sister to us and I couldn’t even call her to give her the news. Andy had to do it. She’s been nothing but supportive (the entire farming/sheep community has been) because she knows. Sheep people know. She knows life happens and things don’t always go as planned. She’s been there and she still stands behind the breed and gives the encouragement needed to persevere. We will. Of course we will. Another amazing lady called me today to encourage and remind me of God’s sovereignty in all things. It’s exactly what I needed to hear.
We didn’t fail. All of the other sheep are healthy. With the exception of one of the ewes lambing early and her lambs not being viable, we are still going strong. The rest of the flock is expected to lamb any day now and we are hoping for a strong healthy crop of lambs. Hopefully they’ll all get the best of what Yoda had to offer. We’ll observe them carefully and the flock as a whole and continue to learn what good shepherding is all about. We strive to be excellent stewards. We want to produce excellent genetics and breed quality animals that need minimal medical intervention. We still want to grow our own socks and we’ll work toward that goal as long as we have the opportunity and knowledge and resources to do so. Dragonwool Yoda taught us some good and hard lessons about life. I’m thankful.
3 more ewes are coming to the farm on Saturday. They are pretty girls from the Canoe Lake flock and are being sold by a neat couple who raises dexter cattle in TN and wanted to have sheep as sort of a novelty addition on their farm. They brought the sheep home and soon realized that their dogs weren’t too pleased with the new sheep or maybe they were too pleased and viewed the sheep as play things, so in everyone’s best interest the sheep were posted for sale. My friend Alena from Dragonwool Acres tagged me in the ad on Facebook and the fun began. We asked Don (the owner of Family Tree Farm) if he’d be interested in adding the sheep to the existing flock, because we sure were interested and when his reply was ‘let’s do it’ I started figuring out acquisition logistics.
We have never used a livestock hauler before but that looked like our only option because Andy is completely booked from now to forever in preparation for a new season on the farm which means new babies (animal and human alike), new plantings, more eggs than ever and so so so much more. I get dizzy just thinking about what his daily lists look like much less trying to figure out what he’s got going on any given day, week or month.
After following leads for 4 different livestock transports and waiting for two other buyers to pick up the sheep, I did not expect them to actually join the flock here. After all, there was a deadline for the sheep to be rehomed and none of the haulers were available for a few weeks and other buyers were surely going to pick them up before us. Then, we arranged for Willie (Don’s son) to meet the sheep just west of Atlanta this Saturday. It’s sort of a middle ground meeting place which is incredibly helpful for us since we can’t make the trip all the way to Cleveland TN during this crazy busy season.
I am very excited to meet these girls and since I’m finally able to put faces with names of the Jacobs already here, it will be neat to figure out faces, names and personalities and eventually fleeces… These girls will need to be sheared right away too, which is another adventure to deal with. In the meantime, we are waiting for this year’s Jacob lambs to be born and getting the flock’s paperwork in order and preparing for our own sweet baby and painting cabinets (one of these days) and enjoying the craziness that comes with farming and homesteading. As Susan Brant always says, ‘never a dull moment.’
I didn’t want to sell it. I wasn’t planning on letting it go. I had just about 3 pounds of the most beautiful, sweet smelling beeswax that you’ve ever laid eyes on sitting on my shelf when I got the phone call. ‘Hey Melissa, this is D. we’re friends with R and we want to … and we’re looking for beeswax… starting a candle company… the refinery…’ I think my first response was something like ‘that’s awesome, but we don’t have any beeswax right now but if I hear of someone else with clean/chemical free beeswax then I’ll let you know. We are a very small operation and we don’t have bulk beeswax for what you’re looking for…’ It went something like that because I wasn’t going to sell my last couple of pounds of wax that I worked really hard to render and get all the bee parts cleaned out of to the competition. No way! After all, I just started making candles and needed it for my own candles and lip balms and soap. Besides, beeswax is valuable. At least to me. At least my beeswax is valuable to me because I know that it is 100% clean and free of toxins. I know our bee yard is very secluded and we don’t treat our bees with medications and our honey ‘crops’ are wild and aren’t being sprayed with herbicides and pesticides and other junk. Mosquito control doesn’t even fly over. I know it takes 7-9 pounds of honey to make a single pound of beeswax and that a honey bee spends its entire life to make 1 teaspoon of honey. It’s valuable. And it’s sold. Andy sold my beeswax.
After I spoke with D for about 10 more minutes guaranteeing him I’d let him and his wife know if I hear of any beeswax, I put Andy on the phone because of some other mutual interests and friendships. After my hackles went down (did you read the part about them starting a candle company and them being all professional with a cool name? ‘The Refinery’ is the name of their candle company by the way and Deliciously Unrefined is our farm business’ slogan by the way-weird, right?) and I heard Andy give a dissertation on honey and beeswax and beekeeping and then ask how much beeswax they need and heard him say-oh just a pound? Then I sort of gave him a glare and ‘don’t even think about it’ and then I totally caved and started looking for the scale to see how much I had. Because I’m a sucker and I felt guilty for having jealous thoughts and for hoarding my beeswax-even though it’s not technically hoarding when you use it and make things and sell those things that you make. That’s actually a business even if it’s a tiny business. Maybe it’s more of a hobby, but it doesn’t matter. My beeswax is sold and we’re actually having dinner with these strangers in a few weeks, because Andy also invited them over for dinner sometime and I suppose I’m going to have to get over the fact that I have to wait a while before we can harvest anymore beeswax for my own candles. That’s okay. Lord willing, we will harvest more and I’ll get over myself.
The shearer came, she saw and she absolutely conquered. Since this is our first experience with wool sheep and we had zero point of reference for what to expect from a shearer, with the exception of our personal experience ‘shearing’ two of the ewes when they arrived on the farm, I must say that I am blown away by our experience. Nicole and I had been messaging back and forth for a couple of months when I asked if she’d come out to shear the small flock of Jacobs on the farm and when she showed up, I was a little nervous. You see, we have zero experience with fiber animals. Zero. Unless these last few months of tending to these Jacobs count then count us out of the fiber farming world. What’s a micron count? What’s luster and staple length? What exactly does VM stand for? These are all little things we are learning but I certainly don’t consider myself a fiber snob although I aspire to be one someday, because when part of your life includes ‘shepherding a small flock of wool sheep’ it’s kind of cool to know what you’re talking about.
So, Nicole arrived and made us feel right at home (we were actually in our front yard) and made us feel completely normal and like the best clients she’s ever had, which is simply because she’s awesome and knows her stuff and is happy to teach and share what she knows with the likes of us.
Andy had already loaded the sheep onto a livestock trailer in anticipation of shearing which was a good thing since Yoda sent us (andy, the kids on myself) on a wild ram chase for over an hour earlier that day. The sheep weren’t too happy to be out of the pasture, but they are all relieved to have lost their fleeces before they melt in the sunshine and warm weather we’ve been having. Nicole and Amy (her partner in crime) and Andy trimmed hooves while she taught us about how to evaluate body scores and eyelids and gum color to determine if anyone is anemic or needs some extra TLC. It is really nice to have a starting point for the flock’s health so that we can keep good records of everyone through the seasons.
It was also really great to identify names with faces, because the truth is that I only knew 3 of their names and that’s kind of sad, all things considered. But, they have tons of area to roam and they aren’t exactly coming to get their heads scratched when I go out into the field to say hello. That’s okay, because I almost have their names down now and I have a much greater appreciation for each of them after our shearing on Friday afternoon. They are awesome animals and I’m excited to see the lambs they produce and to improve their genetics with each generation that is born. Sheep are great.
We learned about Nicole’s business and ministry with Adonais Alpacas in North Georgia and are completely inspired and blown away by what she does. She’s a wealth of knowledge and a wealth of love and generosity. Thankfully, she not only shears sheep (and Alpacas) but she also processes the fiber. Hallelujah! So, the fleeces went back to North Georgia with her and will return as roving, which is the step before spinning into yarn. That seems much more manageable at this stage than learning how to skirt, wash, tumble, card, rove (?) and spin with zero experience and zero equipment. I’m not writing a tutorial on how to process wool anytime soon, because I don’t know. I don’t even know how to knit. Working backwards here, huh? Or maybe from the ground up which is exactly how we like it.
The soap is technically ready to use but I’m too nervous to try it. I’ll let Andy try a few bars and make sure it won’t burn my skin off or leave any kind of dangerous rash or poison me before I use it. I made 2 different batches and decided to wait before making any more in order to make sure they actually work. Andy’s brave and honest and I need a brave and honest soul to test out my newest craft obsession before I move forward. After all, I didn’t even know what ‘trace’ was before I delved into my first soap making soirée. In fact, I couldn’t really tell you what it means now, because it’s still a foreign language to me, but if you’re a soap maker then you know what I’m talking about.
Speaking of foreign languages and new hobbies and obsessions, we are shearing the Jacob sheep in a couple of days. Technically a professional is shearing the sheep because we sheared 2 of them when they first arrived after almost dying and taking Andy with them on their trip home (see ‘the great sheep escape’ or the ‘miracle on the interstate’ or whatever I entitled that post for more info). Anyway, after that rough chop shop of a shearing job we did and cutting the poor girls one too many times, we decided to spare their skin and have someone who actually knows what they’re doing come out and show us the ropes.
She’ll be here on Friday afternoon and on Saturday I’m going to a friend’s place in Augusta to watch the shearer in action again and to help with the beginning steps of cleaning a raw fleece. Then, the plan is to send off some of the fleeces to a professional (fiber mill) to be processed into yarn and handle a few of the raw fleeces ourselves. This new culture of fiber farming is absolutely fascinating. Do you know the work it takes to get a wool fleece off of an animal and into a pair of socks?! No? I sure don’t. I’ve never done it. If you have then please move to Emanuel county ga so we can be neighbors and you can show me your ways, because skirting, carding, roving, spinning, suint water, worsted, 2 ply, hand spinning, spinning wheel, carders, felting and all of those other terms have just opened my eyes to the fact that I am absolutely clueless when it comes to fiber farming.
I don’t even know how to knit, but I am determined to make a wool hat and eventually some socks out of this deal. This should be interesting and I’ll keep you posted because that’s what a blog is for, right?
Years ago, when Andy and I first met he asked me if I wanted to see his soap. This was after he showed me his bee hives, garden and chicken coop. I’m sure I answered something like, ‘Really? You make soap? That’s so cool, I’ve always wanted to make soap. That’s really fascinating. Of course I want to see your soap.’ I did think it was cool and fascinating and I did want to make my own soap, but I just couldn’t believe I’d been invited to see another layer of my (unbeknownst to me) future husband’s many gifts and creative talents.
So, I saw his soap stash and his lip balms and essential oils (I think that was all in the same cabinet) and was really impressed. The soap wasn’t pretty. It didn’t make awesome suds and occasionally it didn’t cure long enough so the lye would completely burn your skin off and it left a terrible residue in the bath tub, but I was still smitten with soap and chickens and bee hives and eventually the urban farmer who considered himself nothing of the sort but, really enjoyed all of those farmy things and is now full time farming with me and our brood and my new found love of soap making. That’s right! 7 years or so after that day I walked in and saw his soapbox I have finally finally finally made my first batch of soap.
It is so fresh that I can’t use it yet and won’t know how it suds or cleans or works for at least another month, because it needs to cure, but it’s beautiful and with the exception of the lye and the natural fragrance oil it is made from ingredients that we produce here on the farm like goat milk and beef tallow and another fat that I’m too embarrassed to talk about right now, because it was a complete accident but is actually a legitimate ingredient used for soap making. I just thought it was beef tallow but it wasn’t. So, my first bars will be quite interesting and remind me of the time a chicken toe was left in the collard greens that we ate for Thanksgiving with my family one year. We can laugh about it now, because we know that chicken feet make excellent stock, but at the time Andy quickly put the toe in a napkin and I made him keep quiet so my sisters wouldn’t find out.
Back to the soap: I only made a half batch to experiment and I used a basic recipe from Mother Earth News, substituting the water in the recipe with some frozen goat milk that I had on hand when there was a surplus of goat milk and no one to consume it. I used the lye calculator from Brambleberry (a big soap making supplier/company), got my supplies together and went for it while Andy and the kids were down at the river and hunting for arrowheads.
It looks and smells great and I didn’t even realize my accidental tallow mistake until we were sitting down to dinner and I told Andy that I didn’t have enough tallow in the freezer and had to melt it and strain it before using so it would be really clean and he said, ‘honey that’s not tallow. The tallow is all in the crock in the barn.’ I was hysterically laughing about my first batch and big mistake until I quickly looked at the lye calculator and lo and behold my crazy ingredient is completely legitimate and apparently popular enough to be listed as an official soap fat option. Let’s just say that if this soap turns out to be the best of all my future experiments, including the ones I’m going to try with olive and coconut oils and beeswax then I’m going to have to render a lot more chicken fat.