Joy in New Life

a.k.a. "What I should have published last month"

Photo by Geri Jean on Unsplash

When I started this Substack, I wanted to write at least one post a month. That seemed like a low-key, reasonable goal at the time — especially given my other mystery novel-writing projects and daily homestead chores. But there was not much low-key about this past April. Or May, if I’m honest.

Springtime is GO TIME! on a homestead. Between new animal births, out of town visitors, an overseas trip, my dance recital, wrapping up homeschooling, and a family wedding, I have not had much capacity to write for the last two months.

Normally I write as the owl wakes. But last month, I could barely keep my eyes open past 11:00pm. (When you start typing with one eye open, that’s probably a sign you need to give it up and go to bed.)

My apologies if anyone noticed (or felt bothered by) a bit of reticence on my part last month.

So to get back in the swing, I wanted to share some of what’s been keeping me so occupied these last couple months.

The biggest news this spring was the birth of our first two goat kids on the homestead!

Winifred had started labor, but I had heard mother goats go off their feed and separate themselves from the herd before giving birth. When I looked outside, Winifred was happily munching grass with the others, so I thought I had several hours to go yet. And I still had to homeschool, so the kids and I watched videos of goat birth, put together a birthing kit, researched possible interventions if something went awry … and totally missed the moment when Winifred had twins in the stable. She obviously did not need any assistance.

A second happy happening was the arrival (and survival) of our second litter of baby bunnies (called kits or kittens). Our first kindling last year did not end happily. Due to my ignorance and poor hutch design, four of the seven first kittens managed to crawl out of their bunny boxes and die of exposure. Then we lost a fifth kitten when it got stuck between two boards it was trying to chew through. In an effort to not repeat our first experience, I shored up the bunny boxes so the babies couldn’t climb out of them and covered the hole chewed by the older unfortunate lapine. And so far, so good! Our new six kittens are doing great. (And, rabbits being what they are, we’ve now had yet another successful kindling of eight!)

And just in case I didn’t have enough projects, I decided to hatch some of our own chicks again this year. I crossed our French Black Copper Marans rooster, Reginald, with a hen of the same breed to get dark-brown egg-layers.

I also crossed him with some other olive eggers (who lay — you guessed it! Olive-colored eggs) and Ameraucanas (which lay blue eggs) to hopefully get green-olive egg layers for next year.

I got out the old Styrofoam incubator, marked “X” and “O” on opposite sides of each egg, managed the humidity levels, and tried to turn the eggs three times a day for about twenty-one days. The hatch was mostly successful. About 85% of the eggs resulted in a chick. But I did make one mistake which I hope not to replicate next year.

In an effort to avoid something which happened last spring — namely, chicks coming to the point to hatching but not progressing and ultimately dying in their shells — I attempted to “help” one chick out of its confinement. Unfortunately, the sudden departure from its calcium cocoon caused it to lose more blood than it should have. The chick survived for a day or two, but never managed to get its eyes open or its feet squarely underneath it.

I learned an important life lesson: process is important, and shortcuts can be deadly. Quick fixes [insert favorite addiction or fad diet here] may promise life, but can often lead to death. That’s a hard lesson to swallow in our Western instant-gratification world.

I know this, but I still want fresh eggs now, not six months after the chicks hatch. I want fresh veg now, not 85 days after planting the seed. I want fresh milk now, not five months and two weeks after my goat gets pregnant (or nine months and one week if my cow ever does). But homesteading has helped me appreciate anew the importance of that steady, stubborn faithfulness which ultimately results in a harvest.

Photo by Nina Luong on Unsplash

So thanks for joining me on this writing/homesteading process as I await vine-ripened tomatoes, pails of fresh milk, and polished/published murder mysteries.