Recent mornings have been moderately cool following the oven heat of high summer. The humidity levels have dropped, and our gills have gone dormant with lack of use or need. Afternoons now find me with energy to burn, looking for farm projects instead of the cool shade of a tree and a cold beer. Fall, if not here and knocking at the door, has at least pulled into the driveway.
These changes continue to surprise even when anticipated. When I am physically engaged outside, say, setting a wooden corner post for the new pig farrowing yard, I am made intimately aware of the season by the amount of sweat running down my forehead. (The number of salt-begrimed shirts hanging on the front porch is also a good indicator.)
The farrowing yard we are working hard to complete is for two gilts, a Red Wattle and a Berkshire, bought back in the spring and both now sexually mature. They have begun estrus, which finds us trying to time their cycles so that we can artificially inseminate them in the next month or two. Which is why I find myself most mornings staring at their business end or placing my hands on their rumps to see if they are in standing heat. These are the manner of activities that give rise to rumors about farmers and their livestock. So, they are also activities best done out of sight of farm guests and nosy neighbors.
The hill that lies beyond the farrowing yard, the hay barn, and the old orchard is our upper hayfield. It is ready to cut and bale for what will be the final harvest of the year. The grass is thick, the seed heads prominent. It really should have been cut this past week during the beautiful weather. Now the forecast is for some instability. Meaning that Labor Day will no doubt find me crisscrossing the 10 acres with a variety of dangerous implements. (Let me remind myself now, again, publicly, not to drive off the hill with a hay bale on the front spear and one on the back … in high gear. That mistake leads to disapproving looks from Cindy and a change of certain apparel by this farmer.)
Between the orchard and the upper hayfield the muscadine vines are laden with bronze beauties and ready to harvest. Knowing the ripeness of this luscious fruit is easy to determine. Just listen and smell.
When at 3 a.m. the sound of dogs barking incessantly at trespassing opossums reaches our ears, or the smell of the latter’s demise at the hands of the former reaches our nose, it is time to pick. That I still have 50 pounds of muscadines in the freezer from last year does not matter. Because I have a new yeast, sitting in front of me on my desk, especially made for distilling brandy. And in the corner of my study, there already sit five gallons of cider bubbling away as evidence of the yeast’s vigor.
Which is all to say, in a roundabout way, that the work of a farm goes on through the four seasons in ways both familiar and new.
With all the rain you’ve had this summer I’d hope the grass is thick, and the grapes full and and tantalizing. An anxious yeast sounds reassuring as well.
Keeping your wits about you as you haul bales in from the field – agreed… seems obvious enough. But when the sky darkens on the horizon and there is too much left to get, well – wits can get strained. Familiarity and good habits can give your wits some support.
Will the gilts be bred back to their respective breeds, or will you be cross breeding these ladies?
Good question on the gilts. We will breed true on the Red Wattle, it is not only a heritage breed but a rare one. The Berkshire we will cross, possibly with a Red Wattle or one of the ubiquitous 4 way crosses in the neighborhood. The Berkshire has such great conformation. But it is slow growing. So, a cross will be beneficial.